


Not a Drop to Drink

by annieke



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieke/pseuds/annieke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Drop to Drink

**Author's Note:**

> Written a while ago--part of some fic I'm moving here.  
> Also, for some odd reason, I wrote this in first person.

I drank too much last night.

I drink, it's a normal end of the week thing, moreover a probable thing when ending the week from hell like I'd just done. So yeah, I admit, I tied one on. 

It's just, I think I drank *too* much last night. And I'm not sure I can blame anything that happened on that fact.

I've been standing here long enough, I guess, peering blearily into my bathroom mirror. I'm not getting any answers, though I'm not entirely sure just what I should be asking, so I just stare.

The face that greets me doesn't even look like mine. Red-rimmed eyelids surrounding more veins than white, I look pasty. Drawn. Tired. Even my mustache seems to be drooping, and for a split second it occurs to me maybe I'm too old for this kind of thing--but then, that's a thought best left shelved before I go venturing down a path I'm not ready to consider.

Besides, I'm not that old. Not really.

I just drank too much last night.

I rub a hand over my face and peer into the mirror again as a few fragments of scenes from the previous evening unreel through my head like a bad porn video. Though fun at the time, I'm not sure I like what I see now.

Weird. It all feels weird.

My mouth is dry enough I opt to brush my teeth a second time. Besides, that's good for the few extra minutes I can hide in here.

Not that I'm really hiding, though I suppose the fact I am still in here with the door shut, doing nothing, tells of more a need to collect myself than just time spent finishing basic morning functions. I splash cold water on my face and try to refrain from groaning over what all transpired last night.

How should I be feeling? I'm not sure, though there's a butterfly in my stomach that's just frantic to be set free.

I consider a shower--should shower--but I know, too, the sound of water running in here is pretty loud out there in my bedroom. And I'm not ready to make conversation just yet. Not sure I can face any of it yet.

It's one thing to live your life surrounded by those you call friend. It's a whole other thing to sleep with them.

And it was them. Not him, but them.

Oh yeah, I definitely drank too much last night.

I mean, I love sex as much as the next guy--more maybe, no big secret there. Never been one to turn down a decent offer of a fun filled night, and finding myself between the sheets with a good looking bedmate on a late Friday evening isn't likely to be setting tongues wagging over any new revelations about my character.

I have a reputation of sorts, I know that--and it's not one that's completely unfounded. 

No one who knows me would be too shocked to find I slept with two people last night. Like I said, I like sex. No, I love sex, and have no hang-ups about subscribing to some of its more non-conformist facets. That is, I'm pretty much game for anything. Have tried most.

'Course, last night was kind of a venture down a path to new territory.

And here comes that groan again. I hold it back, turning to rest my ass against the bathroom counter because I'm still not ready to leave this room.

Call me chickenshit, whatever. Guess I am, because I know I'm not quite up to facing my life out there. And make no mistake, what's out there will affect my life. Has to, I can't see how it wouldn't.

Last night wasn't just some two-fold one-night stand. Oh no.

In a way, I wish it had been just a meaningless tryst. Hell, I've done that a time or two, and never found myself hiding out in the bathroom come morning. 'Course, half the time I'm not even around come morning, though since this is my place, where would I run off to?

Not that I'm running. I'm not. I'm just standing here inside my tiny bathroom, staring at the closed door and wishing that maybe there was some pair of sweet, young things out there I could just easily kiss goodbye while hailing them a cab with the promise to call some time in the future. And I would call. I always call.

But this, this is all weird. I feel weird. It's not like I haven't had enough bed-partners through here to know what to do or say come morning--it's easy. This should be easy.

But that out there, that's not easy.

It's not the fact they're men. I admit almost half of my fun filled weekend nights have been spent with bodies equipped with more muscle than curve. I do have an appreciation for the male physique--there's just something about the clean lines and hard planes of a strong male body.

Not that I don't love women, I do. 

Soft and beautiful and carrying that scent that's uniquely female. And breasts. Oh, God, I do love breasts.

Female, male--I'm easy to please.

It's who is out there that's the problem.

Or not the problem. Maybe there is no problem--sure no one acted like they had a problem with any of this last night, though isn't that indicative of what a little too much to drink can do.

I know I'm not the only one who likes sex and from what all happened last night, it's for sure this wasn't anybody's first time with the same gender--and we all used condoms. I'm not stupid. I mean, when desires have been met and the bloom is off the rose, well, better safe than sorry. So am I sorry any of this happened now? No--

But I am still standing here in my bathroom. Maybe I'm thinking too much, and I'm not really a thinking kind of guy. I'm a doer. I do.

And I do need to get moving. I need to do something. My reflection seems to think so as it's telling me to move my body back out there to greet the other--

Bodies. Bodies that belong to--

Oh, Lord. What the hell have I done? 

Turning back to the mirror, the face staring back at me offers up no sympathy, and I turn away because I'm not sure I can take the look in those eyes. And I'm not talking bloodshot anymore.

What is wrong with me?

I run a washcloth over my face, fingers scraping down a cheek full of morning stubble, which just reminds me of the patch of skin burn I have on the inside of my thigh.

I brush over it lightly and it's tender. Boy's whiskers rubbed me raw last night.

That thought passes through my head and then, as if on cue, my ass twinges. I smile a bit. My thigh isn't the only thing rubbed raw.

Jesus.

I sure wasn't the only one who drank too much last night.

Which now just makes me grin like an idiot. Okay, so maybe it isn't so bad, the fact I just screwed two members of my team.

Not like I haven't done one of them before.

More than fuck buddies, Chris and I, but less than anything that could be construed as relationship evolving. A good fuck had between friends. That's all. Been there, done that. Several times--and never with any morning-after regret. Like I said, it's been done. 

We've done. And it's all been good.

Skin familiar to my touch, I can almost feel his flesh underneath my fingers now. And his scent, I know it well--horses, tobacco, whiskey-breath with a trace of mint.

All him. Chris. We've always been close--very close. Fuck-buddy close, and that's about as close as it can get. At least I thought so. But last night--last night offered a glimpse into more than I'd imagined I wanted.

And I'm not sure that is a good thing.

Oh, the act was at the time, a good thing, a great thing. Hell, it was downright over the top fun. And I'm all for fun.

So yeah, last night, after a few drinks--well, more than a few, if I'm being honest--Chris was looking real good. Couple of shots and more than a few beers later, and all sorts of dirty little ideas formed in my head. Happens every time I'm out with him. The man is downright jaw dropping good looking--the kind of man who exudes masculinity without having to do or say anything. Definitely an alpha aura surrounds Chris, no two ways about that.

And I like that. Some of the time, I love that. Need that. And I needed that last night. Like I said, it had been a hellish week.

So last night, I kept drinking, laughing. Drinking some more. At some point well after midnight, I know my hand found a home in the man's crotch. Right there under the table. No one was paying attention, at least, no one but me--and Chris, of course. He sent me that look that spoke volumes as far as intention and want go, and I knew he was up for some late-night fun, in more ways than just my hand resting on his jeans.

I wasn't about to turn down what I was pretty sure he was offering with his reaction--and he'd made no attempt at removing my wayward hand. So, I figure it was only a matter of how long to pay the tab and get the hell on out to my place--and then on to a little between the sheets action. I could only thank God JD was out of town for the weekend so we'd have the whole house to ourselves.

I was looking forward to it; being with Chris. It had been a while. Too long a while.

I hadn't encouraged us putting in a little buddy-fuck time in what felt like forever, not what with him seeing Mary like he'd been. Like I thought he'd been.

Hell, what did I know?

All these past mornings and here he'd come, wandering into the office all smiles and secretive grins to himself. Yeah, the man was getting laid, that much was fairly evident--at least to me.

So, Chris and Mary. I thought it was Mary. Obviously, I need to pay more attention to life around me. How had I missed this?

Vin. It was Vin.

There I was, my hand nestled deeply into Chris's crotch, happily stroking and thinking no one was the wiser. Yeah, right.

The others had already gone on home, and there left was only Chris, Vin and me. Vin's eyes can speak volumes, too, sometimes. If I'd have known at that point last night what I found out not too much later, I might have backed off. Might have left my hand where it belonged, wrapped around my beer and not shoved so suggestively there into warm black denim. 

But a feeling washed over me that foretold of a good time to be had with Chris this night, and so there my hand remained. Across the table, there Vin remained, watching.

In one quick millisecond, it dawned just what it was Chris had been doing with his nights. What, and with whom--and I'd say Mary hadn't even been a blink-of-an-eye consideration.

Where had I been the past couple months not to see this?

I couldn't sneak my hand away unnoticed, not with Vin staring like he was, and a big part of me had no desire to shift position, anyway. It would have been a mistake, I think. Really, why wouldn't my hand belong where it had found a home many times in the past? Besides, I couldn't do shit about it, anyway.

Vin's eyes were glued towards my hand in Chris's lap, and it struck me right then and there without a shadow of a doubt; they'd been fucking.

Were fucking. I just knew.

And there I was, hand in the cookie jar. Caught dead to rights by the new fuck-buddy--and it occurred to me to wonder just how and when I'd been relegated to old fuck-buddy.

Then he grinned, Vin did.

And Chris grinned right back, picking up his whiskey and, during a split-second fit of complete uncertainty when I thought perhaps I ought to maybe pull my hand away and let it all go--let Chris go--I felt his other hand join mine down there in the hidden depths of his lap. He squeezed my fingers, if anything pressing them more directly down onto his denim-covered cock and I shivered with a thread of renewed delight at what I found there.

Maybe not yet the old fuck-buddy.

Then I was grinning, too, my hand massaging--not so much as to arouse suspicion by anyone else who might be watching, but enough apparently, to arouse a Vin who was.

They looked at each other, Chris and Vin, some silent exchange passing between them, though sure not one that was any big secret. Hell, as far as I could see, they might as well have been shouting their desire. For each other and for...

Well, they were looking my way, and it doesn't take a mathematician to add up one and one and one to make potential threesome.

Chris was game. Vin was clearly game. Both of them--and me. Both of them and me, together?

Well, hell. With all this communication going on between the three of us and no words spoken, who was I to voice an objection now?

Threesomes aren't exactly new to me. Threesomes with two guys, well yeah, that's a little more rare. Threesomes with two of my coworkers, well--I said I'd had too much to drink. 

I'm smiling now, remembering, though it makes my lip hurt, the bottom one. One of those two bit me last night. I think it was Vin.

It feels swollen but in a good way and as I run a finger over it, gets me to sighing. Mornings after can be hard sometimes. Not that I mean *that* kind of hard--I'm talking the kind that makes you want to rush last night's bed playmate out to a quick breakfast with a 'thanks for everything, it was great and I'll call ya later' goodbye.

Not that I want to rush either of these two away. It's just, Chris I'm used to waking up to in the morning. Vin--I don't know exactly what to think. Like I said, hard.

Though now I've finished what I really came to do and flush the toilet, I'm finding as I reflect on what all happened last night, details running through my head about who did what to whom, well, maybe I do mean that other kind of hard--that really good kind of hard.

There are two downright beautiful men out there in my bed--so why am I thinking pancakes?

It's still dark in the room, slivers of early morning light framing the blinds I've drawn, and I quickly turn off the bathroom light and stumble from there to the bed.

"Hey," I hear. Chris is awake.

"Hey," I reply, not sure if I should just slide under the sheets or start getting dressed or--what. It's funny, when it's just him and me--and this is a situation that's never arisen before wherein it's not just him and me--I'd have jumped back into bed and jumped his bones. Now, though--

But he flips back the comforter. No mistaking that invitation.

I slide on in next to him, and his bared skin warms me immediately. It's a familiar feeling.

"You're cold," he says with a ghost of shiver.

That just prompts me to wrap my legs around his. We're tangled like a pretzel now, and I press my front to his back as he rolls to face the completely covered, unmoving lump on his other side.

And here I always thought of Vin as a light sleeper

He's snoring softly, though. I resist the urge to wake him. As much fun as that boy was last night, I'm not so sure how to face him this morning. Chris, Chris is easy. We've done this enough it's like a sweep of familiarity when we touch--just a glass of morning orange juice easy.

But Vin--

I reach an arm around Chris, wrapping him and pulling him closer to me. Possessive-like, and I surprise myself.

He rests an arm over mine, his hand squeezing my wrist, which I like, then sliding it down until our fingers are interlaced, which I like even better.

His other hand is reaching toward Vin, and I'm not so sure I like that at all. I almost tell him to stop, don't wake him up.

"He's dead to the world," Chris whispers as he pulls the spread lower down off Vin's head. I wonder how he can sleep that way, all covered up with no air to breathe.

And then Vin mumbles something in his sleep, and turns into that hand touching him. So now, though I've got a pretty good sized California king bed, we're all in each other's space. Three men pressed together right smack in the center.

Doesn't feel so bad, I'm thinking, the three of us here. 

"He's not gonna mind this?" I ask Chris, sudden nervousness and jitters getting the best of me at the thought of the morning after the night before conversation. That surprises me, too, as I'm usually the one blowing off my date in the early hours of a Saturday morning and rushing him or her out to breakfast so I can go join Chris and the guys out at his ranch. Or at least just Chris.

Never occurred to me to wonder why--why I'd prefer the company of this man to whatever lovely I'd spent spinning with under the sheets the night before. It's just always what I do on Saturday, what I've done for years, and I can't imagine changing that. Ever.

This time though, well, it's one thing to be full of drink and let loose and fuck your fuck buddy and his fuck buddy, both of whom are work associates--and a total other thing to face up to it all the next morning. And though it's not the first time, hell, not even the tenth time Chris and I have done this over the years--I don't have that many fingers to count--it is the first time we've had a third--and this third is Vin.

"Little late to be asking," Chris replies to my question. Then smiles.

Yeah, I figure he's right. What's done is done and I sure don't need to be showing any rising feelings of insecurity to either of these men--rather shocked, myself, to find I have them.

I'd had fun, and doesn't my aching ass just prove it wasn't a total screw up of an evening--no pun intended--plus, the way Vin was coming as I rocked into him while Chris rocked into me pretty much proves neither of them was wishing themselves, or me, somewhere else.

Still, though, the thought of facing them both now--I wonder again how long they've been screwing each other.

Does that matter to me? Obviously somehow, it does. I feel my stomach roll, and it ain't hunger pangs. I think I just don't want to come face to face with whatever level of intimacy is likely to show as they look at each other.

From what I remember last night, they've got the rhythm down just fine. Definitely practiced, these two. Not that it's rocket science, mind you--the body knows what it wants and where to get it. Still, they move together like they've been doing this for years. Like Chris and I have for years.

Chris, I know well. His body, his moves, though watching him doing what he does best with a body not my own--a bit disconcerting, I admit. Fascinating and erotic--yeah, I admit it's that, too.

And Vin, well, that boy's just full of his own surprises--very responsive and pretty damned vocal when he's in the sweet throes. My cock twitches with interest as I recall him pretty much sucking me half down his throat at the same time Chris was going down on him.

I guess I've made some sort of noise, because Chris turns to me, looking over his shoulder with eyebrows raised.

"Just remembering," I tell him as I nuzzle my nose into the nape of his neck.

He smiles, turning back toward Vin but giving my hand a squeeze as he rolls over. "Was a night I won't forget."

Me neither, I'm thinking.

I want to ask him more about his relationship or whatever it is he has going with Vin, but somehow the words just dam up in my mouth. Too personal, I'm thinking--definitely too personal.

Not only does that seem an odd thought where Chris and I are concerned--as if, over the years, we haven't done about everything a body can do to the other and then some--just, somehow, now, it seems I'd be encroaching on some territory to which I shouldn't be privy.

And that thought sends a myriad of emotions swirling though my head--things I wouldn't have guessed I'd be feeling.

Chris and I have been together off and on for years, since we were kids, almost. And never once did the term 'relationship' ever enter a morning after conversation.

Fuck buddies--pleasure to be had in each other, whenever, no strings attached.

And yet, with the look Chris has on his face right now, I can see some point of intimacy has already been established between him and Vin.

Somehow it makes me feel--

Hell, I don't know. Sad. Angry. Left out. Jealous, maybe.

I've been at the side of this man almost half my life. I want strings. I think.

God, what's happening to me?

Never been one to crave that feeling of being tied down--not that way, anyway, though the thought of the other way can give me thrills and chills. I guess now it's more a feeling of resentment, maybe, that he and Vin have established so quickly what he and I never even considered.

We were friends. Then we fucked, and we were fuck friends--but never relationship ensconced lovers.

I wonder if that was my fault.

Maybe.

I always have been more interested in 'playing the field' so to speak, than any sort of settling down--that no strings thing.

Chris had been with Sarah for all those years, so settling for him was already established. For me, too many beautiful women were out there to shack up with a man for the rest of my life, I guess, and Chris and I always did find time together eventually. 

We've always been an extra appendage, of sorts, to each other--warm embraces, emotional support and just plain fun there when needed. I guess in a way, I now realize, we have had our own sort of relationship structure.

So why do I now feel like there's something I've wanted just out of my reach?

There is something about Chris I have to have, and I've always been pretty sure he felt the same for me in return. We're a constant in one another's lives, and I guess now with Vin added to whatever equation I've come up with, there's going to be a change.

I'm not sure I like change.

As if sensing the thoughts tumbling around my head, Chris again turns to look at me. Like I said, we know each other too well.

"What?" I ask, inwardly cringing over the too defensive sound in my voice.

"You alright with all this, Buck?"

My eyes take in that face--he has the most penetrating eyes. I nod. Of course I'm okay with this--I'm always okay with having this man in my bed.

It's that other I'm not so sure about, and I know that's what he's asking. And in thinking that, there's Vin, turning into Chris like it's the most natural thing in the world to wake with him by his side.

"Bout time you woke up," Chris is softly saying to him, reaching out to brush Vin's now unruly bed-hair out of his face. I have noticed his other hand hasn't let go of me, which somehow sends a flush of reassurance straight to my heart.

Vin mumbles, eyes blinking his way to some sort of coherency. It's surprising in a way, because I would've thought him to be more an abrupt waker, but he's coming around slowly, like he's half drugged. Or hung-over. Or like he's just that comfortable where and with whom he's been sleeping. I don't pretend it's me.

"What time's it?" he asks with a stretch and a yawn.

"Early," I respond and his eyes widen for a split second. Almost like he's forgotten I'm there.

But then he smiles warmly, and it makes it hard for me to wish him gone.

I wonder if he's had any second thoughts about last night. Then, as soon as that occurs to me, I'm figuring he's probably thinking everything is just fine right where he is, because there's some serious tenting of sheets happening there between his legs.

He catches me looking at him and grins further, the warmth in that expression now turned downright lascivious. "Always am an early riser," he quips.

Chris laughs and lets go of my arm, reaching to draw Vin in closer to him. I feel suddenly cold, but then Vin's arms reach for me, one hand grasping my shoulder and the other wrapping the back of my neck and he's pulling me down in for a kiss.

He still tastes like beer. And toothpaste, but maybe that's me and either way, it's not a bad way to start the morning, I'm deciding.

Vin's rolling atop me to land on my right side and Chris is plastered to my left and suddenly, I find myself sandwiched in the middle. And that is not such a bad place to be.

"Told you this would be good thing," Chris is saying to him over my abdomen.

Vin laughs, the sound deep and growly and I find I kind of like what I hear--and then I find myself smiling.

I don't know how, exactly, we're all going to fit together--and not in the physical sense, that seems to be an easy problem solved--or whether I fit at all, though the looks of reassurance Chris keeps sending me give me some idea this is not just a one time 'too much drink' fling thing.

This is becoming a grounded, 'we could be on to something really good here' thing.

I like that and yes, I could do this all again with them. Soon.

As in, right now soon.

And this time, not even a drop of drink is in sight.

The End


End file.
